The Shoe Diagnosis
by Moonkistforlife
Summary: I poked around a little senselessly, avoiding the door in the back that was half-closed, knowing it was his private little place back there that I shouldn't be going into. Two-shot. MUST ONLY BE READ AFTER 'ERASERS' AND 'THE SHOE DISCOVERY'. Teeheeee.


_Characters: Doc Worth and Conrad Achenleck_

_Prompt: Shoes_

_Notes: THIS IS THE LAST IN A SERIES OF THREE FANFICS. {Erasers} is the FIRST, {The Shoe Discovery} is the second, and THIS is the third. So go read those other two first. :[_

_To the ones who've read them already: There, see? Doesnt it make sense now? x]  
_

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A couple nights later I went through the same motions. I put my shoes on, having entirely disbanded the whole mental process of figuring out why they were so strangely different and why they were so strangely the same to Worth's shoes. I went to fetch my blood as per usual, but when I came in, repeating my usual mantra in my mind (I will not let Worth's words, actions, phrases, curses, assumptions, and/or sneers affect me tonight. I will not punch him, I will not grow angry and flustered and allow him to catch me and keep me where he wants me.), I realized that I was horrendously tardy. Four hours tardy. I'd slept in quite late and then gotten up and finished one of my more important commissions instead of gone straight over for dinner- breakfast- whatever.

I frowned. Worth wasn't…here? Hanna said he was ALWAYS here. Of course, I know that 'always' is a ridiculous sort of adjective to use, but … I'd only ever seen Worth leave his office once before, and to think of him as a man outside his environment made me feel a little uneasy. Not in the 'I feel sorry for any human who has to come into contact with him' way, but the over-protective sort. For some reason, I couldn't imagine Worth being able to survive in a not-messed-up-area.  
I saw the cooler off to the side, filled with my dinner, and decided to go for it on my own. I was hungry, and sure that he didn't care in the least if I helped myself. Once I was sufficiently stocked up, I was about to leave. Then I felt a bit…strange, not knowing where he was or what he was doing, not having at least told him I took a bit of blood for myself.

I poked around a little senselessly, avoiding the door in the back that was half-closed, knowing it was his private little place back there that I shouldn't be going into. Though when he wasn't under his desk, or in the pages of the few scattered books, I resigned to pushing the door open a little. To my surprise, it wasn't obnoxious and rusted as I imagined it would be. It didn't make that terrible squeaking noise that hinges sometimes do. It gave way with silent and smooth sound, and I walked in further to the cave. To my left was a tinier door, and I felt that if he wasn't in here, he was in this last door, this last room. I pulled that door open, and stood on a terrible 60's-rip-off square of shag carpeting in the most worn-out, disgusting brown I'd ever seen.  
I looked only five seconds, when I saw him.

He was sitting there in the tub, forehead on his curled-in knees, arms around himself. I almost recoiled and left, but, when I realized he wasn't responding, I grew a little nervous and edged my torso in closer, leaning in. I finally understood that he was either very relaxed and meditative (I can't imagine that at all, in honesty, so the possibility immediately left my mind) or very asleep. I said nothing, but watched him for a few seconds. I noticed my mouth drooping at the corners and my whole body sagging a little. I felt guilty to just leave him there. He was so familiar, so vulnerable in that state. He was so…so…

I stepped back in horror, and shut the door. No. I didn't want to think that.  
I hurried to his desk, scribbled out a note- thought better of the wording, erased it very hard, and rushed out of there without thinking about what I might have left behind. I went home and immediately feasted, and went right into work-mode.  
You see, I had discovered a much, much larger similarity, one that probably went very deep, between Doc Worth and myself.  
It wasn't just shoe style.

I remembered sitting in the tub like that when I was seven years old, so frustrated and alone and tired.

I remembered sitting in the tub like that when I was seventeen years old, so exhausted and filled up with emotion.

I remembered sitting in the tub like that when I was bitten, just a little while ago, waiting for the sun to go back down and wishing I had not ever taken the daylight for granted.

Unfortunately, the memories flooded back to me while I was curled up in the bath tub, knees tucked into myself, forehead atop them, arms around my chest, distraught because of how similar I was to a man I was supposed to hate, a man who was supposed to hate me.

I wish it had been just shoe style.

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_Hanna is Not a Boy's Name, a beautiful, wonderful, perfect webcomic, as well as the characters Doc Worth and Conrad Achenleck belong to Tessa Stone._  
_REVIEW IF........._

_1. You wanna see me write more._

_2. You have criticism._

_3. You love me. :]_

_4. You hate me. ]:_

_5. BAHAHAHA YOU READ TO NUMBER FIVE. Now you must review or OHMIGAWD A LITTLE GIRL WILL FIND YOU AND KILL YOU ON THE FIFTH OF THE MONTH. Like I said, this worked last time. ;;;;_

_No, srs though. Review. D: PLEASE?_


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